


The Heart Burned Itself

by simonsaysyes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Emotional Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, No happy ending...well not in that sense, One Shot, Rejection, Rough Sex, here be porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 07:59:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3127043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simonsaysyes/pseuds/simonsaysyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One night, after far too much alcohol, John kissed Sherlock. Properly snogged the fellow. </p><p>The morning after, he wakes up regretting every moment of it and advises Sherlock that it was a huge mistake.</p><p>This story is the aftermath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heart Burned Itself

Morning came and Sherlock spread out across his bed as he stretched. He ran his fingers through his hair and massaged his scalp. He was pleased that even muddled with alcohol, his brain was genius enough to remember to drink lots of water. His hangover would have been much worse without it.

 

He pulled on his camel dressing gown and sauntered to the kitchen.

 

“John, where’s my tea?” He sat himself at the kitchen table, set his elbows on it and supported his head in his hands. When no tea appeared in front of him, he looked up. John was nowhere to be found. “Must I do everything myself?!”

 

The consulting detective got up and placed the kettle on the stove. He was sat back at the table when John appeared, fully dressed.

 

“What’s that smell?” the doctor questioned.

 

“I’m making tea.”

 

“You’re – dammit Sherlock!” Just rushed to the kettle and pulled it off the stove. “How many times do I have to tell you? Make sure there’s water in the kettle!”

 

Sherlock didn’t react. There was a hissing sound as water hit the already heated metal. John placed the water-boiling contraption back on the stove and took out two cups. He set them on the counter and grabbed the tea bags.

 

Just placed a cuppa in front of his flatmate and grabbed his own. He leaned against the counter and watched as Sherlock’s long fingers wrapped themselves around the porcelain and brought it forward to breathe in the comforting scent before taking a sip.

 

“How’s your head this morning?” John questioned.

 

“Fine.”

 

“Look. Last night.”

 

“Yes, that was fine as well.”

 

“No, Sherlock. It was not fine. It was a bit not good.”

The mad genius’ eyes flew upwards to observe the doctor. _Arms crossed. Tea untouched. Jaw clenched. Not avoiding eye contact._

 

_Bit not good._

 

Sherlock set his tea down and place his hands flat on the table. His mind tried to find the right thing to say.

 

_~~It’s ok. John, it’s me. It’s us.~~ _

__

_~~I’ve been waiting for you to let go since the first day I’ve met you.~~ _

__

_~~I love you.~~ _

 

Before he could settle on something, John continued, “God dammit Sherlock! I’m not gay! I’m sick and tired of people accusing me! Not that it’s something condemning, too be gay, it’s fine. It’s just not me!”

 

Sherlock waved an elegant hand threw the air, dismissing John’s concerns, “It’s just a label John, it’s just how society –”

 

“No! No, you listen! I don’t want any of this ‘label’ bullshit speech! I have a girlfriend.” The doctor stood up straight and tugged his sweater to straighten it. “I have a girlfriend and things are going quite well with her.”

 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

 

The fact that Sherlock was remaining so calm further annoyed John. “I’ll prove it! If that’s what it takes Sherlock!” He took out his mobile and tapped out a text. He shoved the device back in his pocket and stormed out of the kitchen, leaving his tea behind.

 

Sherlock looked at the cup, confused by it’s state. He got up and walked towards it. _Warm, not too hot. Milk. Just the right amount_. He turned it. _No chips._ He smelled it. _Darjeeling. Not John’s usual, but still enjoyed_. Why was it left behind? Why would John not drink his tea? _Upset_.   

 

A knock at the door snapped Sherlock out of his mind. John marched by the kitchen and went to open the door.

 

“Sherlock this is Mary. Mary, this is the flatmate that I mentioned has a crush on me.”

 

She was beautiful. Of course, she was. There was simplicity to her beauty.

                                 

“Hello Darling,” she greeted.

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Oh please! Do not patronise me.”

 

She shrugged and turned her attention towards John, “How long do we have before you have to head to the surgery?”

 

“At least an hour,” he pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Listen, Mary, I’m sorry to drag you into this, I truly am. I know it’s not proper at all…” John’s eyes darted from Mary to Sherlock as he spoke. Resolve settling on the doctor’s face, he pulled Mary close to him by the hips, and leaned in to start nibbling her neck. She gasped and the sound that followed disgusted Sherlock.

 

“Let’s do it on the couch,” she said it loud enough for Sherlock to hear.

 

John walked backwards, towards the living room, pulling her with him. He stopped when his legs touched the sofa, just long enough to pull his shirt off. Mary then pushed him onto it. Sherlock was able to see the outline of John’s erection coming through his corduroy pants before the woman shamelessly straddled him.

                                            

The genius had seen enough. He bolted out the door and down the stairs.

 

As he left 221B Baker Street, the cool crisp air hit his longs. He ran as fast as he could, turning into an alleyway as soon as possible to avoid any CCTV cameras.

 

Tears ran down his face and mixed in with the falling rain. His foot collided with an upturned interlock stone and he fell, landing in a puddle. _Blasted London!_ He momentarily stayed on all fours, sobbing. He got back up and continued his run until he was face to face with a black door on the top floor of an apartment building.

 

He knocked forcefully. The door soon swung open and he pushed the occupant aside as he walked in.

 

Dripping wet, he pulled at his hair while spinning in circles. Or was it the room that was spinning?

 

Hi violently started stripping himself of the drenched clothing, keeping only his pants on.

 

“Bloody hell! Sherlock? What’s going on?” the soft voice interrogated.

 

“Shut up!” Sherlock walked backwards until he hit a wall, “I don’t need your pity! Or your ‘I told you so’s.’” The consulting detective shut his eyes tight, trying to will the tears to stop flowing.

 

“Dear me, aren’t you in a state. You came to me, remember.” The statement held all the power, as the speaker so often did.

 

Sherlock covered his face with his hands. He looked around and at the man standing in front of him. Somehow, he had ran straight to Moriarty’s flat.

 

“Hey? Seriously, our little games aside, are you ok?” An unsure hand was placed on the slim shoulder.

 

“You wouldn’t understand!” Sherlock uncovered his face and waved at the opposing body. “You get everything you want! Then there’s me! Who would want this,” he waved at his own body.

 

Moriarty swallowed, “You have no idea do you?”

 

“What?” Sherlock was confused. The tears had finally stopped and he was trying to regulate his breathing.

 

Moriarty’s eyes glanced up and down Sherlock’s exposed body, “You think I keep playing with you because I want the challenge, right? Or perhaps because I’m evil and you think I hate you?” Sherlock gave an almost indiscernible nod. “Wrong. You’re - and I swear if you repeat this to anyone, you are dead Sherlock Holmes – you’re gorgeous…distracting…and what a brain…the things I think of doing to you…I play our games to get your attention.”

 

Sherlock stared at Moriarty, slack jawed, mouth imitating a fish, opening and closing without actually saying a word.

 

Moriarty’s hand slowly moved from Sherlock’s shoulder to his waist.

 

“Oh,” Sherlock clued in. “You’re – you’re wearing too much clothes.”

 

His hands flew forward to unbutton the man’s shirt. It didn’t take long for both to be standing in their pants, facing each other.

 

Sherlock placed his hands flat on Moriarty’s chest and leaned in. His enemy caught his lips in a kiss. The detective’s left hand moved upwards, fingers going through his new lover’s hair. He tugged, causing Moriarty to tilt his head. Sherlock moved his lips against the man’s neck, copying what he had seen John do with Mary.

 

Moriarty’s hands moved to Sherlock’s rear end and pulled him forward. Their erections brushed, causing both to gasp. The detective kept attacking the criminal’s neck with his mouth. It was sloppy and there was a lot of saliva. He needed to mark it. Needed to mark it like he had fantasised about John marking him.

 

“F-fuck Sherlock,” Moriarty started moving backwards, causing Sherlock to detach from his neck. He, however, kept his hold on the other man and pulled him towards the bedroom.

 

 _This is good. Yes. This is good_ , Sherlock convinced himself.

 

He pushed Moriarty on to the bed. The criminal lay back as Sherlock hooked his fingers on the hem of the man’s pants and pulled them off, exposing a hard, leaking, dick.

 

Sherlock knelt between Moriarty’s legs, ran his fingers up his enemy’s thighs and bent over.

 

He licked a strip up Moriarty’s erection. The man titled his head back, enjoying the feeling of the genius’s mouth, lapping around the head of his cock.

 

“Do you have lube?” Sherlock asked before shoving the entirety of Moriarty’s cock in his mouth. It went deep and he gagged around it, but he didn’t care. Neither did Moriarty, whose eyes went wide. Sherlock pressed his tongue flat against the shaft while he dragged his mouth up and down.

 

“Fuck!” the shorter man remembered the lube and absentmindedly reached over to his nightstand and opened the drawer. He knocked things around until his hand came in contact with the little bottle.

 

Sherlock released the cock that had been occupying his mouth and turned around. Crawling to all fours, presenting his arse to the man.

 

“Oh, bloody hell!” Moriarty quickly got on his knees.

 

“Don’t be gentle,” Sherlock ordered.

 

“My, my. Aren’t we needy!” Moriarty spread Sherlock’s buttocks and licked up his cleft before twirling his tongue around the tight opening. Sherlock wasn’t expecting this. He gasped and leaned his head against his forearm.

 

Moriarty squeezed some lube out on two fingers. He unceremoniously shoved one in Sherlock’s arse, dragged it in and out a few times before letting the second finger join in.

 

It stung. Sherlock bit his lip and forced himself to rock back and forth on the fingers.

 

“Enough! Get inside me! Now! I want to be able to feel you for days after this!” Sherlock ordered.

 

Moriarty’s eyebrows shot upwards. He didn’t need to be asked twice. He leaned over to his bed stand and grabbed a condom. After quickly rolling it down on himself and applying some lube, he lined up with Sherlock’s hole.

 

“Just do it!” Sherlock wiggled his ass impatiently.

 

The evil man grabbed Sherlock’s hips to still them and used one smooth motion to ram his cock inside.

 

“FUCK!” Sherlock shouted, clutching the bed sheet.

 

Moriarty’s hands tightened on the man’s hips. His eyes were shut tight as he adjusted to the warm pressure surrounding his cock.

 

Sherlock spotted the discarded lube bottle. He reached back and grabbed it, squeezing some in his hand before taking hold of his neglected penis.

 

The consulting criminal slowly pulled out and then rammed back in. He pulled out again, until only the tip remained, angled his hips and slammed back in.

 

Sherlock saw stars, “Bugger! Do that again!”

 

Moriarty started thrusting in and out vigorously. Sherlock let the motion push his dick in and out of his fist.

 

“Harder!”

 

“Fuck, Sherlock, you’re so tight!”

Sherlock started rocking his hips back as best he could to meet Moriarty’s thrusts.

 

Sherlock gasped as Moriarty’s cock invade him, filled him up and made him feel treacherously good.

 

“J– Jim, I’m going to cum!”

 

“No!” Moriarty stilled and yanked Sherlock’s hand away causing the taller man to whimper. “Greedy little Holmes, you don’t get to cum until I do. You wait your turn.”

 

He grabbed Sherlock’s wrists and held them behind the detective’s back as he resumed his thrusting. No longer having an arm to support himself, Sherlock’s face was flush with the bed, beads of sweat dripping off the pale skin and onto the sheets. He purposely clenched his ass, causing Moriarty’s rhythmic thrusts to falter and become erratic. It didn’t take long until the short-haired man was groaning as he came.

 

He pulled out and sat against the bedframe. He pulled the condom off, tying it and throwing it in the bin.

 

“Now, Sherlock Holmes. You’ve been such a good boy. Let me see you.”

 

Sherlock turned around and knelt in front of Moriarty. He leaned his long body back, holding himself up with one hand as the other wrapped itself around his cock. He screwed his eyes shut as he jerked himself off.

 

Moriarty forgot how to speak. He breathed heavily, admiring the site displayed before him.

 

Sherlock inhaled sharply, avoiding the name stuck in his throat and trying to escape through his lips as streaks of pearls splashed across his chest.

 

Sherlock slumped forward and fell on the bed.

 

Moriarty lay beside him, arm draped over his eyes. The man soon passed out, exhausted.

 

Sherlock let his breathing return to normal and sat up, disgusted by the cum on his stomach. He left the bed and found the washroom, locating a towel and wiping most of the substance off of himself. He left the towel on the ground and went to find his clothes. He grabbed his trousers and fished his mobile out of his pocket.

 

He sat on the floor, back to the wall.

 

He tapped the power button to check the time and noticed he had missed messages.

 

John [10:21am]

-       I’m sorry!

 

John [10:21am]

-       Shit, Sherlock, I wasn’t thinking

 

John [10:23am]

-       I kicked her out the second I saw you running out the door

 

John [10:25am]

-       I cocked up ok! Come back

 

John [11:28am]

-       Please I’m an idiot ok let’s just chalk this up to being another row of ours

 

John [10:33am]

-       Sherlock please talk to me

 

_1 missed call – Dr. John Watson_

 

John [10:36am]

-       Sherlock, talk to me or I’m calling your brother!

 

John [10:41am]

-       I was scared!

 

_2 missed calls – Dr. John Watson_

 

John [10:52am]

-       Please just come home and we can talk

 

_4 missed calls – Dr. John Watson._

Sherlock erased all the messages. Love was something found on the losing side. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

 

 


End file.
